The Rook's Second Move

Log Info

• Title: The Rook's Second Move

• Emitter/GM: Ravenstongue

• Characters: Ravenstongue, Telamon

• Place: Memorial Gardens District / Theatre District

• Summary: The Corpse Eater strikes again.

Content warning: Psychological horror.

Memorial Gardens, evening.

Another Kesenday, another poetry slam in the Theatre District that Cor'lana has slipped out of the house to attend with Pothy in tow. She'd also asked Telamon to pick up some bread from one of Pothy's favorite bakeries in the Memorial Gardens District when he could as she slipped out the door, and while it is a bit of an imposition... Anything for love (and for love's familiar with an endless stomach), right?

It's a chilly evening again, as the warm evenings have left the world behind for the season, but the bakery was, thankfully, not sold out of bread by the time Telamon arrived. The darkness has already set in, with patches of stars peeking out of the densely-packed dark clouds in the sky. The air is crisply cool, and breath flows out of people's mouths and noses into plumes of frosted air.

Before Telamon can realize it, however, there's the sound of feet coming from behind, followed by a tight hug from a very familiar frame. It's his wife, Cor'lana, smiling brightly. "Aww, I didn't expect to run into you on my way home," she says. "Hi, Tel."

Paranoia sucks. But... this is almost too convenient. And so Telamon has kept his wits about him. Shifting the bag of bread around, Telamon offers a charming smile to his wife, and says, "Serendipity is a kindness." He glances up at the scudding clouds and the night sky, and his eyes twinkle. "I'm a bit surprised you didn't fly home. It's chilly out. I know I was planning to do so."

"After all," he adds, "the faster I get home, the faster Pothy gets his bread."

"I didn't feel like flying," Cor'lana says with a giggle and a twinkle in her violet eyes. "Pothy did, though. I'm sure he'll beat the two of us home. Let's walk together, for old times' sake? I think I saw some new decorations along the way, but I didn't get a good look at them earlier."

She holds her arm out to him. She's wearing the same long dress-like coat that she was wearing earlier when she headed out the door. The curuchuil and the engagement ring are there on her left hand, of course. "The poetry slam went well," she says. "I didn't win again, but the competition's been stiff the last couple of times, anyway."

Telamon raises his eyebrows. "Ah. Well, I'm sure he's fine. He's probably looking forward to the new garden. We can plant roses, like we did last spring." His eyes dance, as he takes Lana's hand, his face showing nothing but attentiveness for his new bride.

"Well, this is Alexandria. The bardic college probably sends their apprentices to those slams to get practice in, and let's be honest; we're both gifted amateurs at that sort of thing."

"I would prefer more of the lavender, myself," Cor'lana says with a sweet smile to her husband. Her hand is warm against his. It feels like her. It looks like her--

But any thoughts on if it's Cor'lana or not have to wait. There's the sound of shrieking coming from the gardens, followed by a very distraught-looking Glórenacil Lúpecyll emerging from the tree path. "Cor'lana!" he shouts, looking at both half-elves with wild, violet eyes. "Why did you abandon me back there? I thought I'd lost..."

His violet eyes seize onto Telamon as Cor'lana looks visibly disturbed by all of this. "Unhand my daughter, sir. We can handle this amicably. You don't have to kidnap her; I can pay the ransom here and now."

"Ransom?!" Cor'lana huffs. "This is my husband, not a kidnapper."

GAME: Telamon rolls perception: (5)+13: 18
GAME: Telamon rolls sense motive+3: (17)+20+3: 40

Telamon releases Lana's hand quite casually to free his own hands for apparent defense, as he regards Glórenacil. "You're gravely mistaken, sir. Though in your defense, I cannot blame you overmuch." Smoothly, he steps sideways, suddenly forming a triangle between himself, Glórenacil, and Cor'lana.

"I am Telamon Lúpecyll-Atlon," he says, his voice taking on a subtle throb, as his gaze slides suddenly from Glórenacil to 'Cor'lana'. "And you are not Cor'lana Lúpecyll-Atlon." His dark eyes flash with anger.

One might expect for the villain to decide to simply dispense with the ruse when confronted with the truth. But... 'Cor'lana' takes a look at Glórenacil, who seems more confused than ever, and she begins to tear up, returning her gaze to Telamon.

"Tel, why would you say that?" she asks, tears rolling down her face. Even if this isn't Cor'lana, it certainly looks like a Cor'lana deeply wounded by her husband's words. "Of course I am. I'm your Lana... I'm your wife! I went through so much just to get married to you!"

Glórenacil is thrown deeper into his confusion by his 'darling daughter' and her anguish. "What do you mean?" he asks, looking between them. "No, you're... You're not married, are you? You didn't get married in secret, did you, Cor'lana? Why!? How many lies have you told me!?"

Telamon takes a step, but this one puts him closer to Glórenacil. "You're good, carrion-crow," he growls. "Right down to her scent... but it wasn't perfect." He snorts in amusement. "Gods know, I've awakened more than once in the night and known she was close from that." His stare is cold. "But Lana would never pass up an opportunity to fly."

He flicks his eyes to Glórenacil. "Sir, you have been misled. The truth can be unpleasant, but it is pure, without illusion. It's never too late to put forth new growth, to begin again."

GAME: Ravenstongue rolls 1d20: (2): 2 (Glórenacil will save, fails)

Oh, she's a fine actress, this Cor'lana, but she's only an actress. Her tears continue to stream down her face in a manner that'd earn her all manner of acclaim in the Theatre District--where the real one is likely performing her poetry as they speak--

But she holds her arms out to Glórenacil. "Oh, please, father, you have to understand--I can't be shackled to you anymore. I can't care for you anymore! My new life with Telamon will be so much better without you in it!"

As she says that, a spell leaves her hands, going right through Glórenacil. His face contorts with great despair.

GAME: Telamon rolls spellcraft: (9)+16: 25 (spell ID check)
<OOC> Ravenstongue says, "Crushing Despair."

The spell results in Glórenacil sobbing, falling to his knees as he buries his face in his hands. "Cor'lana, no, please, you can't--I don't want to be alone!" he howls in the misery that has so suddenly overtaken him.

<OOC> Telamon opts for plan B. Aurora Borealis separating Glórenacil and myself from the Corpse Eater. Mesmeric effect pointed at Corpse Eater (I'm not expecting it to actually stop him, but just trying to buy time).
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls 1d20+18: (5)+18: 23
<OOC> Telamon says, "... God, SO CLOSE."
<OOC> Telamon says, "DC is 22 (10 + cha mod + half my level)."

Yeah, this is playing out about how Tel expected. "Corpse Eater! Carrion-worm! You'd best run, people will notice this!" He holds a hand out, and the stars flare in his eyes.

Between 'Cor'lana' and the two men, there's a flash of blue and green radiance, as the northern lights suddenly put in an appearance in Alexandria. Billowing up twenty feet in the air, the chill of the far north coming off it as the curtain of light cascades and shimmers.

GAME: Telamon rolls 1d20+12: (8)+12: 20 (spell resistance check, fails)
GAME: Telamon rolls Will: (8)+12: 20 (vs aura, fails)
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls 1d20-2: (16)+-2: 14 (Glórenacil save vs aura, fails)
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls 5d6: (22): 22 (rounds of frightened)

Telamon may have created the northern lights, but this has no effect on 'Cor'lana', who walks through it confidently like she is their queen to rival Eluna--

Except when she emerges on the other side, the person that comes out is not her but a tall man. Violet eyes pierce out from a pale face that is caked with dried blood around the lips, which he licks hungrily as he stares down Telamon. His long dark hair is matted to his face and flows down to his shoulders, where viscera-covered feathers cling to his form. Wretched talon-hands, like those of his cousin, lift up as he raises his arm into the air.

"I loved holding your hand, Telamon," the Corpse Eater coos in a wretched voice, the bloodied lips spreading into a grin that is far too wide. "Perhaps I'll visit your little wife in the Theatre District next."

The syllable resounds in the air for both Telamon and Glórenacil as he shapeshifts into his rook form and takes flight into the air. Horror seizes Glórenacil's face as he shrieks and runs off into the night, away from Telamon. Away from this world that is rapidly becoming a nightmare of lies for him.

Telamon recoils at the horrid countenance, and his hands already begin moving to cast the spell of flight, to get away from this monster. Dimly he realizes Glórenacil is fleeing, screaming, and he inwardly curses. Getting the last syllable out as the northern lights vanish, the wing like vanes spring into existences and he rockets into the air.

The cold air helps, the blazing stars like a benediction as he orients himself, trying to focus. Theatre District, Theater District... there! He turns, zooming off in the right direction now, like a shooting star across the night sky as he hunts for his bride.

It doesn't take long. Cor'lana--the real one, not the 'skin' being worn by the monster--steps out of a building in the Theatre District. Pothy is on her shoulder, a tell-tale sign that it's her and not... what Telamon just endured.

She looks merry enough as she looks at the night sky and spots Telamon. "Oh, look, Pothy, I think that's Telamon!" she says with a wave.

But the Corpse Eater is nowhere to be found. His bloodied lips aren't sneering at Telamon from the crowd, nor is the skull-faced rook anywhere to be seen on lamps or rooftops.

Telamon soars in, 'wings' flaring, to a bit of scattered applause; people love to see grand displays of magic that don't involve demon summoning or things blowing up. He pastes a smile on his face, as he looks at his wife -- and more importantly, Pothy, which is a perfect tell. "Hello, love," he manages to get out in tradespeak, reaching out to take her hand -- and she can feel his fingers trembling.

Switching to Sylvan, he says, "Our esteemed Grandfather's cousin has been at it again, queen of my heart."

Cor'lana's face wrenches into concern when she feels him shaking--and then her violet eyes go wide as he speaks. The first thing she does, however, is to wrap her arms tightly around him. "What happened?" she asks quietly into Telamon's ear. "I'm here, my starborn king, I'm safe. Pothy's safe. We're okay. I promise."

They're little affirmations of what's real: that she's his wife, that she's fine, and this is not another awful illusion by the Corpse Eater. Pothy whimpers quietly in an echo of Cor'lana's sentiment, his head nuzzling against Telamon's, too.

Telamon breathes in her scent -- as familiar as the stars to him, and just as beloved. Hugging back, as he slowly masters himself. Once the shakes have subsided, he begins to walk with her, away from prying ears. "He intercepted me at the bread place. Disguised as you." His jaw clenches. "Bastard. I was on my guard, because he claimed he'd sent Pothy on ahead, which is... unlikely." He offers Pothy a smile. "You'd never pass up a chance to go visit your favorite bakery."

Tel continues, "I managed to use one of our 'test' phrases to confirm it wasn't you -- plus, he didn't smell right." His eyes actually twinkle a bit. "He's good, but he's not perfect. But then Glórenacil came over, and he was... torturing the man, verbally. Talking about how happy we were married and that he didn't have time to take care of Glórenacil..." He shudders. "Look, I know you don't like Glórenacil, and I'm not overfond either, but that was cruel... and about what I expected, to be honest."

Cor'lana listens to Telamon, her expression growing heavier and heavier as he describes the ordeal that happened. "You're right," she admits. "That... is cruel. You know how I feel about him, but..."

She purses her lips. "Maybe he's safest in our house," she says. "We'll need to find him again--hopefully without the rook--and offer him the study. I know it's... not exactly something either of us want, but until we can get that rook out of our lives, he's going to just keep using Glórenacil to hurt both of us. Easiest thing to do is to take his toy away."

Pothy nuzzles against Telamon. "Snacks," he says firmly. Telamon is right. He'd never fly away from a bakery.

Telamon nods. "I purchased a couple scrolls from Archmage Mikilos... one of them is for breaking enchantments. I can use my robe to power the spell, maybe try and strip some of the delusions away from the man." He scowls. "Also, on the upshot, this will get him good and focused on us... maybe we can use it to our advantage."

He smiles, and pets Pothy gently. "I even managed to get the bread, Pothy. Don't think I forgot you." His voice has evened out now. "In any case, we could move him to my family house in Ylvaliel once we find him." His eyes glitter. "They'll keep him safe. With any luck, mother will browbeat him into being civil -- and he'll even be safe to boot."

"As much as I like the idea of housing Glórenacil in the Mythwood," Cor'lana says with a sigh, "I just... I don't want them to get involved. Your parents don't deserve to have the rook on their doorstep just because one of his favorite toys happens to be in their guest bedroom."

She leans into Telamon as they walk, holding onto his arm a little tighter before her hand finds his. It... might be uncomfortable for Telamon at first, considering who just held his hand a few moments before, but it's Cor'lana now who is. His wife. "If we have Glórenacil in our house, we can potentially get information from him once you use the scroll to break any enchantments that are on him. That is valuable. Any weapon we can use against the rook is one we need."

It's pretty clear she's no longer objecting to cold iron in her home by that measure. Pothy, meanwhile, wags his tail up and down happily as he's patted.

Telamon leans into her. This is familiar, warm, and comforting. "Well, at least I didn't kiss him. Faugh." He makes a face. "But... yeah, we need to keep his attention focused on us. The more tunnel vision he gets, the better. I have a couple ideas on how to make him drop his disguise, too."

His expression grows thoughtful. "I need to visit a couple folks. The Vintner might be able to get me what we need." He snorts. "There was a bit of song I heard the other day. 'Toss A Coin To Your Adventurer' or something. And... well, I'll explain it when we get home."

Tel grins at Pothy. "Maybe we need a new version of it for you, Pothy? 'Toss A Peanut To Your Raven'?"

Pothy's feathers all puff up. Clearly he likes this idea. "Toss a coin~" he sings in the voice of a bard.

...Which, they're still in the Theatre District, so naturally, that gets a few people around to burst out into song to complete the rest of the verse. Cor'lana snickers as they round the corner.

"At least you didn't kiss him, yes," Cor'lana says, "although, to be frank, I admittedly never thought I'd be in competition with a man for your lips--after all, you've never particularly indicated an interest in men. Let alone my distant 'great-uncle'."

Of course, she says that, and then she looks immensely grossed out. "Nevermind, that makes it even worse. And really weird. UGH. Let's change the subject."

Eventually, the half-elves do find a subject to talk about that is happier on their way home. Pothy gets his snacks, and for the Lúpecyll-Atlons, the world is a safe and warm place within the boundary of their home.

In the dead of night, a violet-eyed rook takes a rest within the treeline that is only a yard away from the happy home. He just stays there for hours, peering at the windows and at the bare garden--

Until a barn owl flies into the trees, rasping at him in that terrifying way that barn owls do. The rook flies off into the night.

"Damnable creature!" the barn owl mutters to herself, a low and wizened voice leaving her. "I knew he was up to no good." <Sylvan>

On goes the night.